


Fear Is Never Boring

by AuKestrel



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, due South
Genre: Crossover, Episode Related, Gen, M/M, Pining, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-06-06
Updated: 1999-06-06
Packaged: 2018-08-22 00:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8266405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuKestrel/pseuds/AuKestrel
Summary: Originally posted June 1999 | AuKestrelIt's a Due South/Buffy crossover conversation between Ray Kowalski and Oz. Set right before Dr Longball on Due South and just after Cordy gets spiked on Buffy. PG language, little vamp-slaying, no sex... wow... are we sure it's me?





	

_Oh no in trouble now_  
_I understand me_  
_Don't come unglued_  
_Let your heart skip a beat_  
_stay on your feet_  
_don't throw that moment away_

 _No no no no no no no yeah_  
_Feeling good ain't being happy, yeah_  
_No no no no no no no yeah_  
_Taking care ain't being there_  
_I'm out on a limb where the fun begins_  
_Cause fear is never boring_  
      "Fear is Never Boring," Rob Fetters, 1983, the raisins

 

So I'm chewing gum trying to get the taste of last night's tequila out of my mouth and pretty much have the rental car going all out when I hit a gaggle of traffic. Rubberneckers, looking at an accident across the median.

I got time to check out the kid, a little ways ahead, hitching. At least I assume he's hitching. He's got a guitar case and a backpack and he's standing watching the cars go by, but no arm out, no thumb up. Like what's gonna happen is gonna happen. And he reminds me of me, a little, shorter, maybe, but spiky hair and no attitude. So I pull over.

He picks his stuff up and walks to the car. He doesn't hurry. Opens the door, slings his stuff in the back like I give him a ride every day. He slips into the seat. A little older than I thought, maybe twenty. Up close, nice face. Nice kid.

"Serape's interesting," he says, lifting his sunglasses, not smart ass, but like he thinks it really is interesting.

And I grin at him, can't help it. He grins back.

"More interesting than the chick was. Ray Vecchio. Chicago PD," I tell him, tardily. I shoulda done that before. So he knows I'm not a nut case. He can probably tell though. Just like I can tell about him.

"Chicago."

"Yeah."

"Cool. Hit it," he says, and grins again, dropping the sunglasses back down on his nose.

"It's not dark," I say, looking over my left shoulder.

"Yeah, but we're wearing sunglasses."

I pull back out into the traffic. Doesn't take the rental car long to get up to speed and soon we're cruising again, the rubberneckers left in the dust.

"You don't look like a Vecchio," he says after a while. Not expecting an answer.

"You?"

"Oz."

"You look like an Oz," I say.

"Yeah. I know."

A few more miles, and I'm still trying to make conversation.

"You in a band?"

"Kind of."

"What's that?"

"Well, we only know three chords. I keep telling them all real bands know at least six."

"Is that what you were doing in San Diego?"

"Nah. Not San Diego. Close to it, though. There was a band there. The kind that won't play some place like Sunnydale. Jenifur. And there was... is, I guess... a girl."

"There usually is."

Unexpectedly he grins again. "True."

"So how was Jenifur?"

"You know them."

He doesn't sound surprised. Yeah, I know I look younger than I am, but I didn't think I looked that young.

"Yeah. Followed the whole Canadian punk thing for years."

"Ah."

I gotta grin at that. Just like the Mountie.

After a few more minutes he says, "Billy was playing with Jenifur. He's back."

"He would be," I say. "Wasn't his fault."

"He thinks it was."

"You know Billy?" It wouldn't surprise me.

"No."

"So where exactly is Sunnydale?"

He nods at the road ahead. "That way."

Well, that's the way I'm going so I don't say anything.

We drive for a while longer in silence.

"Nice vacation," he says, nodding at the poncho.

"Not really," I say. "Cut it short."

"Too bad."

"Not really," I say again. "My best friend cut it short, and he's more fun to hang with than poncho salesmen and their chicks anyhow."

"That's good. He a cop too?"

"Yeah. A Mountie."

"Cool."

"Yeah."

"In Chicago. That must be... interesting."

Obviously his favourite word.

"You have no idea."

He grins at that. "I do weird."

"I don't do anything _but_ weird since I met him."

"There're worse things. You could be boring."

I snort. "Fraser's a lot of things but that's not one of 'em."

"You either," kid says.

Uh, sure.

"How about the girl?"

He sighs and looks ahead.

"It's a problem."

"She dump you?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well, you got to have an idea or there wouldn't be a problem."

"Oh, yeah, there's a problem. She was kissing another guy. Her best friend."

Heard that one before.

He hears that unspoken thought and wryly twitches an eyebrow at me. "Clichéd. I know."

"Sounds like she made her choice, huh."

He sighs again. "That's really the problem. I don't think so. Knowing her. What she is, what she wants. She's been in love with him for years. He wasn't interested until after she moved on. It's... complicated."

"Chicks can be that way."

"Not her, me."

"Got to sort it out."

"Exactly."

Feel like I've known this kid all my life.

"So what's your love problem?" he asks, first question he's asked the whole time.

"I got none."

"True," he says. Seriously.

Makes me stop and think. Think about love, after all, and what it is.

"Hard to tell," he says.

"Did I say that out loud?"

"Yeah."

"You like the heavy stuff, huh, Oz."

"Love. I don't think a lot of people really know what it is."

"Obviously."

"No. What they think it is. They know that. But what it is... nah."

"Yeah, and if you could tell 'em they'd hang you or put you on every talk show from coast to coast."

"Good thing I tend towards reticence."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

That gets another grin out of him, a slow one this time.

"Well, for one thing it's not about words. It's more about how you feel about yourself, when you're around someone you love."

I'm quiet a while and then say, "Anyone calls you from Oprah, run like hell."

"Letterman okay?"

"I'd go with Conan, myself."

We both chuckle at that.

"So how you feel about yourself? Around her?"

He looks ahead again but I can see his eyes under the sunglasses out of the side of my own. Thinking. Frowning.

"Trying to figure that out. And hoping that I'm not lying to myself about why I feel good about me around her."

"You seem pretty clear headed to me."

"Yeah, but that's the problem with the love thing. Gets mixed up with the hormone thing and the emotion thing."

"'S part of what makes it feel good."

"Exactly my point."

"Duh."

We're eating up the miles. Less than an hour from LA now.

"But it's not a package," I say after a while. "Or it is, but it's not a nice neat package. It's a messy package. Almost always. Eventually."

"Emotions."

"If you think that love is something that can be defined rationally and corralled by logic and put into an intellectuals-only category, I got someone I'd like you to meet."

"Your best friend?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe we're right."

"Maybe sometimes you gotta go on your gut. Your feelings."

"Easy to rationalise. That's what your gut wants you to do."

"Maybe sometimes your gut's a little clearer on what you need than your head is."

He's quiet so long I think I ticked him off. But then he starts talking again and I realise that whatever else he might get upset about, discussion about ideas isn't one of 'em.

"Reflecting the subconscious."

"Could be. Or maybe your subconscious just wants some."

That surprises a laugh out of him.

"That too."

Then he turns and pushes his sunglasses up on the top of his head and looks at me. I try to look at him and drive too. Push my sunglasses up.

"I want it all, though."

"Welcome to the real world."

"And if I can have it all with her, does it matter that she kissed him a couple of times?"

"I don't know her. How the hell do I know?"

"What about you?"

"Thought I did have it all, once. I was wrong."

He slumps back.

"I don't know anyone who does," he says finally. "Except maybe a couple of v - " And stops short, clamps his mouth tight. V what? Kid is right, he does give good weird.

"So did you have it all for a while?" Sunglasses are back down. I leave mine up.

"Yeah, I did."

"Was it worth it?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Would you do it again?"

"Yeah."

"No matter what? No matter who?"

"Yeah."

"Cool."

"But that's me," I say, suddenly panicked.

"Yeah, I know, Surgeon General."

"How about we get a burger before we get into LA traffic?"

"Whatever."

"Mind the drive-through?"

"Nah."

We're back on the road, eating. He's wolfing. Glad I bought a whole bag. He probably ran out of money yesterday. That's the kind of thing I did, when I was his age.

"You never actually said where Sunnydale is."

"North. Couple of hours. I know you're going to LAX. Just drop me there."

"Couple hours?" I try to remember the flight times. I don't have a ticket, just have to buy one. Pull out the cell, call the airline to check the flights. Yeah, don't tell me about the one in twenty minutes, please. There's one in four hours and fifty minutes. There's one in an hour and forty-five minutes. I opt for the one in four hours; it's got one layover instead of two and no changes. I'll just take a night bus to Willison or wherever the hell Fraser's gotten himself to now.

"You got a ride to Sunnydale," I say, closing the phone.

"Aw, no, man." Close to embarrassed as I can imagine him getting.

"What, I can sit around an airport for four hours or I can drive you to Sunnydale and listen to you not talk about life, the universe, and everything."

"Babel fish come in handy."

"Yeah, for you and the Mountie both," I say. "We're gonna drive like hell, though."

"Coolness." And he directs me to a freeway where the traffic is, for LA, moving okay. We'll make it up on the highway north.

And we do, miles disappearing beneath the tires. Reach the welcome to Sunnydale sign in an hour and forty-five minutes, slow down enough going into town that we can almost read it as the headlights move past it.

"You can drive," he says.

"Yeah, that's a thing I do."

He directs me to the high school. Kind of weird, but guess he's friends with the librarian, who sounds like he practically lives there. "Yeah, he'll be there. Or someone will. Maybe even Willow."

Gets out of the car at the school. I get out too. Shake his hand.

"So what is your name?" he asks.

"It really is Ray. Ray Kowalski. How'd you know?"

"I told you. You don't look like a Vecchio."

"You ever in Chicago, look me up."

"Ditto for the Hellmouth."

"The what?"

He grins. "It's a kind of nickname for Sunnydale."

"You're a freak, Oz."

"Yeah." And then he walks me back around to my door. "Get in, Ray. And get out of here. Don't stop for anyone. Run all the damn red lights you want."

"In Sunnydale?" I say. "I'd've thought a town like this the police would be real sticklers."

"They're not out much after dark," he says, not smiling. I pick up his uneasiness - I'm a cop - and it rubs off on me.

"You gonna be okay?"

"Oh, yeah," he says, with a careless confidence that reminds me of Fraser. "I got friends."

"Friends are good."

"Yeah, I can tell you think that."

"Never had a best friend before."

"I know how that is. Take care of him too."

I almost have to laugh at that thought. Fraser? Mr. I'm an Island? Mr. I'm a Strong Self-Sufficient Mountie Island?

He's watching my face. "Maybe needs a different kind of taking care of, Ray."

I shake my head. This has been almost one of the weirdest experiences of my life, right up there with the time I was bending over Vecchio's desk and heard Fraser's voice for the first time, calling not-me, and turned to get plastered with the full effect of six feet of drop dead gorgeous Mountie in full dress uniform and the fake smile on my face became a damned real and happy one and did I just call Fraser gorgeous?,

"Car, Ray," Oz says, a little nervous now.

"Shit, what is up with you?"

"Ray, you do not want to go there. Trust me."

And even as he says that, opening the car door, I hear a growl from the shadows behind the car, sounds like an animal, but then again not, and he tenses, stiffens, and pulls something out of his backpack. Not a piece. A stick. A stake. I grab for the gun at my ankle but he says, "No. Don't bother." And pulls another stake out and hands it to me. "Back to back, Ray. Stick that in anything that doesn't look human."

"What the _fuck_ \- "

And the growl turns into a roar as a guy comes leaping over the hood of the rental car towards us, side by side. He's got a wildly deformed face and his mouth is open with big fangs.

"Uh, you got some weird cult types here," I mutter.

"It's a vampire, Ray, and it's real," Oz says.

Okay, this has officially just become the weirdest moment of my life. I wouldn't believe this from anyone else. Except maybe Fraser. And I wouldn't believe it from Oz if I hadn't just spent six hours with him. And I'm not sure I do, but I don't have time to think now. Oz says stick it in non-humans, my cop training takes over. A growl behind us almost distracts me but I got Oz at my back and I pull my head around in time to bring my leg up to connect with the thing's stomach as it tries to topple us both. Almost succeeds, but we're still half braced against the car and my leg pushes hard into its gut, sends it rolling. Without further thought, I pump three bullets into it. Watch the force of the impact shake its body. My brain does not want to comprehend the fact that there is no blood and it is getting slowly back to its feet.

Oz is moving with the other one, stake at the ready. I'm not sure what actually happens with the whole stake thing when Oz cuts right, ducks, and lunges as the thing lunges at him, popping that stake right into its ribcage.

The thing disappears in a cloud of dust, startlingly and instantly. Holy shit. I stare at where it was for a few seconds before I come back to my senses. Good way to get killed on the street, Kowalski.

I pull my head back around to the other one, now on its feet, circling us. I know what to do, now, even though I don't believe it. It rushes me, catching me in the gut with its head, knocking me off my feet, but it isn't too good at this and I got time to get both feet under him and I push him off fast, roll to my feet. It's got wicked fangs that glint in the light, and I smelled old blood in the few seconds it was on me. It's a sickening smell, especially to a cop. I'm starting to get really mad, now, don't care what it is, but it's trying to kill us for no good reason and has obviously put the hurt on at least one person tonight.

I feel Oz at my shoulder. We circle with it. It grabs at Oz, and I try to move in on its left, but it's too fast. It jumps at Oz, catching him on the side of the head, and he spins and falls to the ground. Shit. He seemed to know what he was doing. What chance do I got?

The thing looks at me, and smiles. The brain is freaking but the gut is just plain mad, and I bare my teeth back at it in an instinctive reaction, moving in front of Oz. It doesn't like that, and it swings at me. Jeez, these things are strong, but they're dumb. A Chicago perp could take 'em in a heartbeat. I grab its arm, twist it around as I step behind its back, and use a backhanded motion to shove the stake into its back. It disappears in the same fast cloud of dust.

I help Oz up, both of us shaking, adrenaline reaction.

"You okay?"

"You okay?"

We grin a little at each other.

"Well, I managed to avoid being a vamp's dinner," he says.

"I'm guessing you don't cuff 'em and read 'em their rights."

"Oz! Are you all right?"

A voice, pleasant, male, overlaid with worry and a British accent. A guy I just know right away is the librarian rushes up, followed by another guy, young, with dark hair.

"Where's Buffy?" Oz asks.

"Never here when you need her," the dark-haired kid says. The librarian guy is eyeing me curiously and so I pull out the badge. "Chicago PD." The brain is on autopilot.

"A little far from home," the librarian says. "Giles. Rupert Giles."

"Ah, Vecchio, Ray Vecchio."

"You didn't save us any," the dark haired kid says.

"Er, if I may ask, Oz, how did you end up here? With a police officer?"

Oz shakes his head, opens his mouth, and at that instant the whole damn thing catches up with me and my knees go out from under me, and I slide bonelessly down the car, head between my knees.

The dark haired kid says thoughtfully, "Yeah, that's a good reaction. I'm guessing you've never run into vamps before."

"You're a wise guy," I say, and my voice is steady, don't know how.

Oz nudges me with a foot and I look up at him and he grins. I grin back.

"Okay, Oz, you win for weirdness."

"Yeah."

"Perhaps we should repair to the library for further discussion?"

Shit. I struggle to my feet, Oz giving a heave at my arm as I come up. "I'm sorry. Jesus. Man, I wanna stay all night and find out what the hell's going on here."

"Oh, the usual. High school, proms, demons from hell, saving the world on a daily basis. Nothing much," the dark haired kid says.

"Vampires are for real," I say. Carefully. "They everywhere?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Giles says. Giles, Rupert Giles. Hell, that's as bad as Benton Fraser. Must be a British Empire thing. "They do, however, tend to congregate in this area. It is the Hellmouth, after all."

"Well, that explains a few things," I say, remembering some strange corpses in Chicago.

"So I'm told," Library Guy says.

"So I can write you c/o the Hellmouth?" I say to Oz. I got a plane to catch, and Fraser's counting on me.

"Cool," he says. I scrabble in my wallet for a card.

"You can write me here. Or better yet, call me. Collect. I gotta hear more."

"Thanks, Ray. I might."

"You better or I'll have to fly out here and hang out in dark parking lots until you take pity on me."

Giles, Rupert Giles, sighs. "This is not supposed to be general knowledge, Detective."

"Like anyone'd believe me?" I say.

"Good point," the dark haired kid says.

"Fraser will," Oz says. "Tell him hi from me."

I look at him funny. Then I get it. "I talk about him a lot, huh."

"Yeah. 'S nice."

"You do the same." He hasn't looked at the dark-haired kid since we staked those things. I'm guessing that's Willow's best friend, Xander, the one she locked lips with.

Oz sees me looking at him and looks at him, back at me, and shrugs. "Worth it," he says.

"Yeah," I say.

Get in the car and take off. Lots of time to make up for.

oOo


End file.
